America's Most Haunted: The Secrets of Famous Paranormal Places - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Theresa Argie, a.k.a "The Haunted Housewife," is an experienced paranormal investigator who has worked with some of the field's most well-respected experts. Theresa has been on several television shows, including "Paranormal Challenge" and "My Ghost Story." Eric Olsen is a leading journalist in the field of paranormal investigation. He is also a published author, media personality and respected blogger. Together, the two host the internet radio show, "America's Most Haunted."

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  #10  

Willoughby, Ohio

INTRODUCTION

Willoughby Coal is not your typical haunt—it’s a fully operational coal company and hardware store. In an era of “super haunts,” it’s refreshing to know that some of the most interesting places, the most haunted places, are little-known local treasures just waiting to be explored. Willoughby Coal represents that one place in every community that only the locals know about, a place so amazing they almost don’t want to share it with anyone. But they should.

Before the simple, beautiful Willoughby Coal building of today, a series of other structures and businesses called the property home, including a train depot, a flour mill, a cheese factory, and numerous inns and lodges such as the Zebra Stagecoach House. The Zebra, named for its unusual striped paint job, was destroyed by a fire in 1879.

In 1893, the current building was built for use as a flour mill, well placed between two railroad lines that made it convenient to move product to market. The mill was successful until automation killed it, and a coal company took over in 1912. The Golf-Kirby Coal Company provided essential fuel to the city, CP&E—the local interurban railroad—and the burgeoning Andrew School for Girls.

In the 1930s, Henry Windus and William “Don” Norris, ambitious employees of Golf-Kirby, joined forces and bought the business. They renamed it Willoughby Coal and Supply, a title it retained until a relatively recent change to Willoughby Coal and Garden Center.

After many successful years of operation, the owners decided to remodel the third floor of Willoughby Coal in 1947. Don Norris kept a watchful eye on progress, taking notes and making recommendations to the construction crew. On the morning of April 2, Norris, who lived nearby, kissed his wife, Maude, good-bye and headed off for work early at 7:10 A.M.

When the shop foreman arrived at Willoughby Coal at 7:40 A.M., he was greeted by a gruesome sight: A man’s mangled body lay facedown at the front entrance in a pool of blood. The entire left side of his head was bashed in, his face an unrecognizable mess. His outstretched arms were broken at the wrists. If not for the car still parked in its usual spot and the wallet in his pocket, the identity of the dead man would have been a mystery.

At first authorities thought Norris might have been robbed, but over $400 in company money was still on his person; his wallet was full of his personal cash; the keys to his brand-new car were still in the ignition; and his gold wristwatch, stopped at 7:26, was still on his broken wrist.

The investigators’ next thought was that for some strange reason Norris had climbed the coal uploader on the side of the building to go up to the third floor, fallen, and somehow crawled to the front of the building. This idea was quickly dismissed when investigators realized that the extent of Norris’s injuries would have made it impossible for him to crawl anywhere, let alone from the side of the building to the front.

Norris’s bloody, battered body was sent to the local funeral home, where the director, oddly, found over a cup of coal dust in the dead man’s clothing. The clothes Norris had worn that morning had been freshly laundered. How could he have collected that much coal residue in such a short period of time? The director also found a small hole in Norris’s left boot.

The grieving family and stunned community wanted answers, and the police cobbled together a theory. Don Norris had arrived at work early, as was his habit, to check on the previous day’s renovations. He had climbed up to the third-floor rafters to examine progress there. A circular window space approximately three feet in diameter, just under the crest of the roof, was open in the front wall. Norris’s foot had gotten caught on a nail sticking up from the wood. He had lost his balance and pitched forward through the open window space, tragically plummeting three stories to his death.

This tenuous sequence of events was accepted as the cause of death for decades. To those unfamiliar with the building, or basic physics, this closed the case. But the dots never really connected. Norris would have had to dive toward the circular opening like Superman in order to get there from the rafters; simply tripping would not have propelled him that distance. Also, the mystery of the coal dust was never officially addressed.

There was nothing in the contract that provided for the widow or the family of the deceased partner. Maybe Norris never gave much thought to dying so young. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the death clause in the contract, or maybe he never suspected his partner would leave his poor widow and children high and dry. Maude Norris took in boarders and laundry to make ends meet. All she was left with was a bucket of tears and baskets of dirty laundry.

Many decades later, in the fall of 2011, Cathi Weber led a small group on her usual Willoughby Ghost Walk rounds. When they arrived at Willoughby Coal, Cathi told the ghostly tales and haunted happenings surrounding the building, including the story of Don Norris, which she had researched extensively for her book, Haunted Willoughby, Ohio. When she got to the details of his death, a hand went up in the crowd.

“Excuse me, I have something to add to that story,” said a young man.

Cathi was surprised but intrigued. “Of course, if you have any information I’d love to hear it.”

The young man introduced himself as the grandson of William “Don” Norris. He said the official cause of death was incorrect, it hadn’t been an accident. His grandfather had been murdered! Now that his grandmother had joined her husband in death, the family felt compelled to speak out about what had really happened that fateful morning.

Cathi was speechless. The young man did indeed know many details that only someone who had extensively researched the case—or who was a family member—would know. According to the Norris family, Henry Windus had wanted the business, the whole business. He had tried to buy his partner’s half, but Don Norris had not been interested in selling. A clause in the partnership agreement between Windus and Norris stated that upon the death of one owner, the other would retain full control of Willoughby Coal and Supply. After several attempts to get control legally, Windus had allegedly hatched a dastardly scheme.

Windus knew of his partner’s early-morning habits, this version goes, and on April 2 he was waiting for him. With the help of someone or several “someones,” Windus jumped Norris when he arrived at the store, dragged him up to the third floor onto the scaffolding at the front face of the building, and viciously tossed him out the window opening, whence he plunged fifty feet to his death.

This version of the incident would account for the injuries to his face and hands and the mysterious coal dust found on the dead man’s clothes. Intriguing and logical, yes, but there is no way to prove any of it and the case has long been closed.

Don Norris’s spirit haunts Willoughby Coal because not only was it the place of his untimely death, it was the place of his life. He poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his work, and now his essence remains, crying out for justice, for someone to hear the truth, whatever that may be.

The untimely and mysterious death of Don Norris isn’t the only recorded death on the grounds of Willoughby Coal. Another man, an employee, died inside the building in the 1970s.

Zip was an older gentleman who was fond of the drink. His problem with alcohol led to the breakup...